


I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to look.

by Amymel86



Series: Tumblr Prompts [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dorne is separated from Westeros, F/M, Fake Relationship, Jon is Dornish, Modern AU, Robb is dead, Sansa needs her Visa to stay, Tumblr Prompt, dialogue prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 10:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: If he can give Robb Stark’s sister this opportunity - to stay here, to continue on her burgeoning career at Westeros’ top selling fashion magazine, ‘Unbroken’, then he can take that risk.





	I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to look.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ValofWinterfell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValofWinterfell/gifts).



> A prompt fill for the lovely ValofWinterfell! I'm pretty sure you were wanting something naughtier than this with that prompt - so I hope this is ok!!

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to look.” 

Jon heard Sansa scoff as he whipped his back to her. “It’s alright, Jon,” she said softly, he could hear the quiet smile in her voice. “It’s not as though any of this is traditional.”

Swallowing the curious lump in his throat, Jon turned to see her again. She had  a cotton sundress on in muted buttercup yellow and her pretty copper hair was in relaxed waves. She’d come to make sure he wasn’t getting ‘cold feet’, and had decided to get herself ready in his spare room. “Yeah, but… it’s bad luck, isn’t it? For the groom to see the bride all done up before…  _you know,_ ” his arms gestured around a little unhelpfully before he gave up and shoved his hands in his jean pockets.

Sansa smiled at that, her eyes deflecting to the carpeted floor of his apartment. She swung her hips a little too - something that he’s quickly learning she does when her nerves were getting the better of her. One slightly freckled shoulder raised up in a shrug. “Well, it’s like I said -  _nothing about this is traditional._ ”

There’s a touch of yearning there, beneath the surface of her facade and it gnaws away at the fringes of his gut. On the one hand, no,  _nothing_  about this marriage is, or will be traditional.  _Hell,_  he’d only met Sansa Stark two months ago! But on the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt to inject  _some_  romanticism into the day, flimsy as it might be.

“There’s a florist a block away,” he tells her, his thumb pointing over his shoulder as if signalling out the said flower shop, “let me go and get you some flowers and maybe-”

“You don’t need to do that,” she interjects, shaking her head, “you’re already doing so much for me.”

Jon shrugs. “They’re only flowers.”

“You know what I mean.” She’s looking at her shoes again and tucking some of that pretty hair behind her ear. 

He  _does_  know what she means.  _Seven Hells,_  he’s risking a hefty fine and some prison time if the authorities find out that their union is a sham just so that Sansa can get a Dornish Marriage Visa and isn’t booted out of the country.  _It’s all your idea and it’s worth it though_ , he thinks, remembering how her older brother had felt like his own back in college. The guilt from being the one who survived that car crash still sometimes leaves him unable to vacate his bed for days on end.

If he can give Robb Stark’s sister this opportunity - to stay here, to continue on her burgeoning career at Westeros’ top selling fashion magazine, ‘ _Unbroken_ ’, then he can take that risk.

What really needs to change anyway? The authorities are looking for  _terrorists,_  not a fashion journalist and a History TA at Sunspear Uni. Her name will temporarily change, and neither of them should be dating anyone for the next four years. It’s not like Jon has any grand plans in that department anyway. She might need to stay over at his for a little while at first, but as soon as the heat is off, he’s sure they’ll hardly even see each other until the divorce.

Jon gives her a small smile. “Still, I think some flowers would be nice,” he tells her, grabbing his wallet and making for the door. He leaves her with the invitation to make herself at home while he’s gone and rushes down the hall towards the lift, groaning internally when he sees his neighbour from the above floor, Varys is already inside.

“Jon,” the bald man smiles in greeting. Jon hopes that whatever gossip the man has heard about the various inhabitant’s of their block is kept to himself. He has no such luck. “I see you have a new neighbour in number 141,” he comments as the lift doors slide shut with a  _‘ding’_. Jon contemplates forcing them open again and using the stairwell instead.

“That’s right,” he replies gruffly. He’d seen the moving boxes arriving yesterday.

“A  _‘Mr Baelish’_.”

“Is that so?” Jon responds, utterly uninterested. He jabs irritably at the button for the ground floor.

“Yes. My little birds tell me he’s a very important man.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Head of the Department of Immigration.”

Jon can _feel_ the colour drain from his face whilst his mind is caught on a loop of one particular word.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!!!!_


End file.
